MYTH-Interpretations: The Worlds of Robert Asprin

by Robert Asprin

  to AE449 from CENTCOM

  we have heard of the Irregulars . . . request denied . . . repeat . . . request denied . . . if he insists shoot him . . . ET

  to CENTCOM from AE449 subject INFOREQ priority II

  MALESUBJ III discovered in Captain's Quart reading ship's log . . . claims it lack both originality and characterization . . . INFOREQ . . . what is a neo-alien . . . ET

  to AE449 from CENTCOM

  term neo-alien not in evidence on MstrFile . . . am forwarding INFOREQ to EMPSTFF . . . ET

  to AE449 from EMPSTFF

  WHAT IS THIS NONSENSE . . . RETURN SHIP TO MILITARY STATUS AT ONCE . . . SUBJS ARE CAPTORS . . . YOU ARE IN COMMAND OF SHIP . . . CONDUCT ALL FURTHER COMMUNICATIONS IN A MANNER FITTING TO YOUR RANK OR IT WILL BE REDUCED . . . ET

  to EMPSTFF from AE449 subject EMPSTFF priority I

  BLOW IT OUT YOUR EARS . . . ET

  to AE449 from EMPSTFF

  CLARIFY LAST TRANS . . . ET

  to EMPSTFF from AE449

  we have located Gremlin . . . ET

  to AE449 from EMPSTFF

  Gremlins do not exist . . . still awaiting clarification . . . it had better be good . . . ET

  to EMPSTFF from AE449 subject FNLTRANS priority I

  WE HAVE CRASHED ON P-4 –SYSTEM ST 883 . . . THE

  MISSING GREMLIN HAS BEEN FOUND . . . HE HAD BEEN USING HIS TIME TO PAINT SPACESCAPES ON THE NAVIGATION VIEWSCREENS . . . THE STAR WE HAVE BEEN FOLLOWING LANDED US IN LAKE MICHIGAN . . . VESS-OCC HAVE OFFERED POLITICAL ASYLUM FOR CREW FROM BOTH YOU AND P-4 PLANETARY OFFICIALS . . . SO LONG TURKEY . . . PS is there any chance you can still send those two cases of Scotch . . . PPS Gremlins do too exist you Do-Do . . . ET

  The Ultimate Weapon

  Robert Lynn Asprin

  Tableau: Office—man in suit (Weston) is sitting at desk—girl (Lori) in conservative office suit is perched on edge of desk holding shotgun on him—youth in white canvas coveralls (Sammy) is speaking on the phone—as he is speaking, a second youth (George) is stripping off blazer, tie and white shirt to show a T-shirt.

  Sammy:That's right, we've got Weston . . . what do you mean who are we? The PFA, the Peoples Freedom Alliance . . . well you've heard of us now. . . .

  Weston:May I compliment you? You were most convincing as a reporter.

  (Lori shrugs indifferently without moving the shotgun.)

  Sammy: . . . Right here in his office . . . Just tell whoever you have to tell we'll kill him if you don't meet our demands. . . .

  (George dons a shoulder holster and pistol, surveys scene, guns, picks up camera from desk and takes pictures of Lori and Weston.)

  George:Smile, Watson. We'll use this as the cover shot for our story.

  Lori:Quit clowning, George.

  (George snaps another picture of her.)

  Lori:Sammy!

  Sammy:George! Fix the door, huh?

  (George snaps picture of him, but starts moving toward the door.)

  Sammy:I'm sorry—what? Okay, all we want is this: first you stop the tests; second, you release full details of the weapon to the public; and third, we need a guarantee that it won't be tested until it has been thoroughly checked for . . . What? Don't give me that! . . . Just tell him!

  (Slams phone down angrily.)

  Lori:What did they say?

  Sammy:Some double talk about not being authorized to act.

  (George is pantomiming booby-trapping the door—carefully wiring detonator in place and setting charges around the room.)

  Weston:Who did you call?

  Sammy:The Pentagon. Who did you think we'd call, the Boy Scouts?

  Weston:You'd probably get better results calling the police. The boys at the Pentagon are pretty secretive.

  Sammy:What do the police have to do with it? They can't stop the tests.

  Weston:But they're more inclined to talk to the media. You are doing this for publicity, aren't you?

  Lori:Maybe you don't listen so good, mister. We want 'em stopped.

  Sammy:Nothing. Just what's on the news—and that's nothing. That's why we want 'em stopped.

  Weston:But if you don't know anything, how can you object to—?

  Sammy:An Ultimate Weapon! An Ultimate Weapon nobody will talk about. The aliens want sanctuary on this planet and offer up an ultimate weapon that will guarantee world peace, and we're all supposed to sit back and not ask questions until it's tested? No way, mister.

  Weston:Is that what's got you upset? Hell, kid, it was the press that gave it the Ultimate Weapon tag, not us.

  George:No such thing.

  Weston:What's that?

  George:There's no such thing as an Ultimate Weapon. I mean, they've been inventing Ultimate Weapons since the crossbow. Each one is going to end all wars. Well, there's always something bigger, or nastier, or more powerful. There's no such thing as an Ultimate Weapon.

  Weston:But then, why are you worried?

  Sammy:Just because it isn't Ultimate doesn't mean it isn't dangerous. An A-bomb isn't ultimate, but I wouldn't want 'em to set one off in my backyard.

  Lori:What do you know about this Ultimate Weapon, Weston?

  Weston:Me? Nothing. I just handle the press releases. I don't know anything more about it than you do.

  Sammy:Then why aren't you worried?

  Weston:Why? Well . . . I guess I trust the Armed Forces' judgment.

  Sammy:Why?

  Weston:Why not? They haven't mishandled any of the other Ultimate Weapons at the control. If they were going to blow up the world, they would have done it by now.

  Lori:The other weapons are public knowledge—at least, what they're supposed to do. Why are they being so secretive about this one?

  Weston:Now, that's not right. Most of the weapons were secret until after they were tested. If anything is puzzling, its why they even announced this one prior to testing it.

  Sammy:Yeah, well what if they're wrong? What if all your experts have been flimflammed and it isn't safe? What happens then?

  Weston:I'll admit I hadn't given it much thought. I guess they'd just abandon the project.

  George:Can't be done.

  Weston:Oh, really now. Why would the aliens bring in a weapon to destroy the planet, if they want to settle here?

  George:I mean, you can't abandon a weapon. Disarmament is an illusion. You can't un-invent a weapon once it's been introduced. It'd be used by somebody, until something better comes along to take its place. The only way you could stop, much less reverse the process, would be to retard or reduce Man's intelligence. That's why there's no such thing as an Ultimate Weapon.

  Sammy:Spare us the lecture, George.

  Lori:(to Weston) George is our pet violence expert.

  Weston:I see. Where did you pick up all these gems of wisdom, George? In the Army?

  George:Nah. I tried to enlist, but the combat units were full up. This is just a hobby for me, just like (holds up the wires he's working on) explosives.

  Weston:Is he actually booby-trapping the door?

  Sammy:That's right.

  Weston:Why?

  Lori:So if the police try to bust down the door, we'll all go up.

  George:It's a deterrent so they won't try to rush us.

  Weston:Have you told anybody yet? I don't remember hearing anything when you were talking on the phone.

  Lori:Hey, he's right. You'd better call the police, Sammy.

  Sammy:Right. (Starts for phone)

  Weston:If you don't mind my saying so, you seem kind of new to this Terrorist game.

  Lori:You're right. We just got together after the announcement about—

  Sammy:(phone in hand) Hey! Lori! What's the phone number for the police?

  Lori:I thought you had it memorized.

  Sammy:(puzzled) I did. Well, I've forgotten . . . Never mind. I'll look it up.

  George:(standing up) All done, Sammy.

  Weston:(craning his neck to see) It doesn't look ve
ry complicated.

  George:It isn't. (points) If they open the door, these two wires make contact—

  Lori:Don't show him, you idiot.

  George:Big deal. Anybody could figure it out just by looking at it.

  Weston:You know, George, what you were saying about retarding Man's intelligence—if that happened, wouldn't everybody be the same? I mean, if we could have stopped our intellectual evolution in the Middle Ages, all that would mean is that we'd all be fighting with cross-bows instead of guns.

  George:You're right. To be totally successful, it would have to be an unequal process. Let a select populace—the police or whoever—evolve normally and retard everybody else so they couldn't think of weapons to top what the police have. Better still, if you could drain their memory so they couldn't even use existing weapons. (smiles suddenly) You know, if you could do that, you'd have the Ultimate Weapon.

  Weston:But I thought you said there was no such thing as an Ultimate Weapon.

  George:(frowns) I did? Yeah, I guess I did.

  Lori:Haven't you found that number yet, Sammy?

  Sammy:(flipping through phone book) I'm having trouble finding it. What letter does ‘police' start with?

  Weston:What?

  (Phone rings)

  Sammy:(answering phone) Hello . . . who? . . . Oh, yeah. That's us . . . I mean, speaking . . . Our demands? . . . Well, we want . . . um . . . (hesitates, frowns as he drops the phone from ear and shakes his head. Finally speaks into receiver again) Don't try to stall us, you know what they are . . . that's right.

  Weston:(to Lori) Can't he remember the demands?

  Lori:Of course he can . . . (suddenly frowns thoughtfully and looks absently at floor)

  George:(approaching Lori with camera) Say, Lori, how do you set the shutter speed on this thing?

  Lori:Not now, George.

  Sammy:Okay . . . Yes, that will do . . . No, that's all we want . . . fine . . . thank you. (hangs up phone) Well, that's that. Okay, Weston, you can go now.

  Weston:What?

  Sammy:That's right. We've won!

  Lori:(leans shotgun against desk and runs to Sammy) Oh, Sammy! We did it! (They hug—Sammy frees an arm to shake hands with George)

  Weston:(bewilderment) Wait a minute! What happened?

  Sammy:They gave in. They won't test the weapon. We've won.

  Weston:Just like that? What guarantees did they give you?

  Sammy:(frowns) Guarantees? They gave us their word.

  Weston:That's all?

  Lori:What more do we need? If we don't trust our country's leaders, who can we trust?

  Weston:But this whole thing was because you didn't trust them.

  Lori:No, it wasn't!

  Sammy:Of course not. It was because. . . . (frowns and looks at the other two)

  Weston:My God!

  George:What is it?

  Weston:My God! It's happened. Just like you said, George. The Ultimate Weapon! Intelligence drain!

  George:What?

  Weston:Don't you see? That's the weapon. And they've already tested it! They've tested on you! All of you!

  George:What are you talking about?

  Weston:Your theory. You sat right there and said the Ultimate Weapon would have to be an Intelligence Drain. Don't you remember?

  (George frowns, then shrugs hopelessly)

  Weston:Think, damn you! (Weston shakes him)

  Sammy:Hey, ease up, Weston. What's your gripe? It's all over.

  Weston:No, it isn't! It's just the beginning. Look. Get them back on the phone and tell them—

  Sammy:Get who back on the phone?

  Weston:Never mind, I'll do it myself. (picks up phone angrily)

  George:Hey! If you're busy, we'll just clear out and let you work.

  Sammy:Right. C'mon Lori.

  Weston:Wait!

  George:What?

  Weston:The bomb! Don't you remember the bomb?

  George:(squints at door) Is that what it is? How can we get past it?

  Weston:But you . . . wait, just stand there. Don't move. Any of you. (dials phone) Preswell? . . . Weston here . . . Yes, I'm fine . . . No, listen . . . No! Dammit! You listen to me . . . it's an Intelligence Drain, isn't it . . . the new weapon . . . no, I don't think it's great! Who the hell decided to use it . . . Who made him God? . . . You're damn straight I'm mad. So will everybody else be . . . that's right, I'm going to the press . . . Bullshit! . . . You're crazier than they are! . . . Oh, go to hell! (slams phone down) The bastards! You kids were right.

  Lori:About what?

  Weston:About everything. Country leaders . . . a bunch of megalo-maniacs, that's what they are!

  Sammy:What are you talking about?

  Weston:(picking up phone) You'll see. When I tell the press—

  (freezes with look of horror on face) I can't remember! I can't remember a single news service. It's happening! (drops phone and starts for door) They're using it on me now. We've got to get out of here—(stops and stares at door) The bomb! Got to disarm it. (kneels down and reaches forward hesitantly) Simple. Anyone can understand it. (the others gather behind him) The bastards! (licks his lips and reaches forward)

  (Flood stage with red light. All freeze)

  (Radio announcer's voice from PA system)

  Radio:Press Secretary Weston was killed in his office today in an abortive terrorist attempt. The President will attend funeral services tomorrow—Elsewhere in the news, Air Force officials again deny reports of UFOs sighted over the country. Citizens are advised to remain calm until investigations are complete.

  CURTAIN)

  The Saga of the Dark Horde

  As Told by

  Yang the Nauseating

  Many and long are the tales told of the Dark Horde. As they are told and retold around the council fires, the heroic exploits of their ancestors grow until it is often difficult to distinguish fact from fantasy. Yet, it cannot be denied that during the reign of Ogati, son of Genghis Khan, a group did leave the Golden Horde and, under the title of the Dark Horde, begin to roam the continent. Thirteen generations later, they still exist in the bodies and spirits of the descendents and, again, the mystic power of the Mongol Hordes is being felt. Who are these people? From whence came their power? Their pride? Their codes? To know the men of the present, we must know their ancestors, the forces that shaped their destiny, and the threats they have survived.

  This is the story of the Dark Horde from its beginning. In the last episode was chronicled the arrival of he who was to be known as the Warlord of Darkness and the Dark Horde. Bork of the Mountains had sought to removing the embarrassing (to Bork) Yang of the Silver Tongue from his place of influence as the councilor of the Ka-Khan. He approached Zalbar, a wizard and practitioner of the Black Arts, and gained his promise of a curse to be laid upon the Silver-tongued One: that at the time he should feel the most pressure, the most pressure, the greatest fear, at that time his nimble tongue would desert him, as well as his other poised airs, and in their stead should come the most brutish, vicious savage to ever gain access to the Ka-Khan's yurt.

  This should have effectively destroyed Yang of the Silver Tongue, but the curse backfired. At the moment of Yang's greatest fear, his personality vanished, and in his stead was born Basta, a savage and ruthless warrior. Basta slaughtered the evil wizard, Zalbar, and would have turned on Bork, had not the mountain man declared that he had no further quarrel with Yang, and therefore no quarrel with Basta. The two (or was it three?) became fast friends and allies in the struggle against the ill-rule of Ogati, Ka-Khan of the Golden Horde. . . .

  Bork of the Mountains was clearly in a hurry. His powerful steed plunged headlong through the camp, scattering cooking fires and people before it, as he leaned forward along its neck, urging it to still greater speed. Finally, he ceased the frothing animal's mad progress, throwing it back on its haunches so violently that it almost fell, and in the same move, was off its back and sprinting t
hrough the door of a yurt.

  "Basta!" his voice boomed. "We are finished! Our plans are undone!"

  The purring voice that answered him did little to settle his mind. "Must you always explode noisily onto the scene, Bork? It would seem that is you, and not our plans, that have become undone."

  Anger flared in Bork as the slender figure of Yang of the Silver Tongue stepped into the candlelight. Though the two were fast friends, Yang could still irritate him by remaining superficially calm in the most trying of situations. In his present stormy mood, Bork was in no condition for Yang's verbal fencing. Eyes blazing, he snatched his sword from its scabbard.

  "None of your pretty word games! I tell you, we are in trouble! Now, summon Basta, or by the Gods I'll—"

  He began to advance the sword in a threatening gesture, but suddenly found the movement restricted. Glancing down, he saw that his sleeve was pinned to the top of the low, lacquered table by a small, quivering throwing knife.

  "A threat from you, my friend? After all these years?" The resounding voice of Basta of the Red Fist filled the tent, chilling in its controlled menace.

  Bork's anger died as quickly as it had risen. "Forgive me, Basta, but my spirit cries for action before this crisis." As he spoke, he returned his weapon to its sheath; taking care to move slowly, he grasped the sword by the blade with his left hand, and eased it into the scabbard without gripping its handle, before removing the dart that imprisoned his left hand. Once before, under similar circumstances, he had made the mistake of switching the weapon rapidly to his left hand. The results were near-disastrous and, even though Yang himself had helped to bind the wound, he still wore the scar of that encounter. Bork had learned his lesson well.

  "My concern was so great that, for a moment, I forgot that, by your curse, it was Yang that I was addressing when I entered."

  "Strange, that you would forget." Basta's voice was heavy with irony.

  Bork winced. All too well he remembered that it was he who, in a moment of rage, had hired the late Zalbar to place a curse on Yang and his descendants, a curse that had backfired by changing a quick-witted court non-combatant into a cold, savage killer whenever danger threatened. While Bork was now friend to both Yang and Basta, the Tongue and the Fist, there were times when he felt a twinge of regret at the complications arising from his rash act.